


Memories of Life and Death

by Polarissruler



Category: Soul Cartel (Webcomic)
Genre: Epistolary, Gen, Memory Loss, Past Lives, Rebirth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23412217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polarissruler/pseuds/Polarissruler
Summary: No soul has come to the living world with memories. No soul has had to remember a whole life - and everything beyond it. No soul, but Lucien's. Or is his name Faust?





	Memories of Life and Death

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everybody! This is far longer than I usually upload and I have been writing it the whole March. It is written for the Lands of Magic at dreamwidth - a pretty nice place. The prompt (I mostly do that these days, don't I) is Rebirth. I hope you have the patience to read this and tell me if you liked it!

The baby cried. Painful, so painful! As if he had drunk a bottle of fire, his body burned. Horrid light - bright, so bright! - shot in his eyes wherever he turned. Between sobs he tried to look around - curiosity overcoming the pain. The baby felt chill — his body shivered — and he recanted the only way he knew.

“Waaahh!” he cried out. Boiling hot, hellishly cold, striking thunder, pain, regrets, death and life all mixed into one poisonous cocktail that injected itself in the baby’s thoughts.

Where? What? Why? His brain — still stuck between thoughts and instincts — fought with all of those attacking ideas.

One feeling took over his body - as if it had become a puppet. Go! He had to go somewhere, he had to discover something! Someone! His head turned around - so fast; so confusing! Where? The tiny baby shuffled, but the warm hands held him in one place. Where to look, at what to look? The black and white silhouettes — everywhere he turned — stood equally distant. He had to recover it! What?

“We should not have given you all memories at once.” Gentle sound - as if a soft trumpet; gracious and proud - warmed the child.

He tried speaking. He had to say something. How could he make words come out of his mouth? His face wrinkled in a strange shape. No matter how much effort the baby put, no sound came out.

“Not so early.” Gentle, slightly itchy feeling stroked the baby’s head. His hand tried catching the object - hair. “Not when you are still so young.”

The voice - the baby recognized it. Plants, light - warm and caring, pink and green. Name! A name — like a beacon — glowed between the images. What? How was she called?

“I apologize, God’s Chosen.” Skin — warm and golden — traced over the baby’s hair. “Humans cannot bear such pain while they are still young. You shall forget. I will take back all memories a newborn would not have known.”

The light moved in an arc. Pain struck the boy’s head. Firestorm angels, powerful devils, endless grace, hellish salvation, judgment and justice — all experiences attacked him.

They came unexpectedly and as soon as they appeared — second before he could realize them — disappeared. The baby did not remember he had seen them before.

“You will remember, God’s Chosen. This is the second life your soul has desired. May your mind remember what the heart never abandons.” Even the voice — golden and fair — grew faint, as if a thick cloud of fog hid it. “May you discover us again when your past comes. And worry not, for we will be by your side. Our protection shall not abandon you.”

The warmth disappeared; the baby cried loudly.

* * *

For Lucien Dire people could never agree on anything.

His parents considered him a prodigy. What another child could read perfectly when only three years old? What other child had already mastered subjects at a college level while only in grade school? What other high-schooler could debate experts in their fields? And when he disappeared for days, leaving only short notices about his whereabouts, his parents trusted him enough. “Oh, he’s extremely reliable. We have raised him well.” And they did not notice he rarely seemed to pay them attention, sticking his nose in the books. Nor they noticed he called them by their names instead of mum and dad. He was a prodigy, they reasoned. “All geniuses have their quirks.”

His peers used to avoid him. “He is too odd,” they would say. He spoke too old-fashionedly, too distantly. They could not comprehend his speeches, the way he debated with fervor, the importance he placed on abstract matters as heaven and hell. Almost like a man from an ancient age. And no matter how much Lucien tried to befriend them and close the gap, they walked around him as wardens around a prisoner. All the knowledge he enjoyed showing off — and with it becoming the teacher’s pet — only fueled the fire. A selfish show-off, that have decided.

His friends did not know if they could consider themselves his friends. They tried understanding him. They truly did. “He is too complicated,” they repeated after each failure. His passionate desire for knowledge attracted other clever students around him - yet Lucien never moved away from the top. Too perfect, almost otherworldly. Too talented, they repeated - as if he had been born with all his knowledge. “He is an ideal.” No one admitted it outright, but that thought never left them. How could they be friends with someone so flawless, someone so beyond them?

His teachers called him special. They all adored him more than any other student. He always gave accurate answers. He was never late. He always studied diligently. He never made noise in school. He never cheated. “What is there to hate about him?” they would ask when one of them opposed the way he always answered first and asked far beyond the material. One teacher called him far too serious for his age - while the other children wanted to be astronauts or firefighters, he longed only for knowledge. Yet no one heard her.

After he disappeared, however, everybody agreed he would never do it on his own. No, he was too smart, too bland, too principled, too perfect to run away from home and say nothing. He must have been abducted. One night, his parents — looking for every clue they could find — opened his diary. Lucian rarely revealed much - even to them. It is possible there was something he had noted - after all, he was their prodigy.

* * *

Today they came again. I am going mad, there is no other explanation. The ghosts no one else sees — those perfect, beautiful beings — are hallucinations. Should I say anything? Should I reveal I see people that no one else can? To those four beings, each of which asks for me? Each of them repeats the same name - Faust. Who is that Faust? Could they speak of the man, who bet his soul against the Devil’s? Impossible; he is but a myth. Insane, I am going insane. My head feels as if it will burst open; the medicine the doctor had prescribed me does nothing to relieve the pain.

I can feel her watching me as I write this. Through the window - as if the tree opposite the building is her body. It is the pink-haired today. She tries speaking. I hear her voice with the wind that ruffles the leaves. Even at the end of autumn the tree stays green - the lone spot of spring for miles. It is she who does that. I closed the window; I shut the curtains. Yet the voice does not stop. It still repeats and repeats “Faust! Faust! Faust!”

I do not reply. If I start answering to those voices only I can hear, I will truly become mad. So, I…

My mind is ending weaker and weaker. I had fallen asleep for a moment on my desk; maybe because of the medicine, maybe because of the voice. Soft and ancient - like a powerful spell to bring me asleep. The same dream as usual. Those four beings clad in light - and one fiend, his whole body set ablaze with bloody crimson flames. And a man in the middle - the man they call Faust.

Are my dreams slipping in reality? Am I forgetting myself? I am Lucien! I am still Lucien Dire, son of Evelyn Dire and Adam Dire. I cannot afford to forget that. Why then it takes so much time to reply when called with that name? As if I am starting believing I am truly called Faust…

The wind pushes the tree to whip the windows. Again: “Faust! Faust! Faust!” I can’t bear that noise! I can’t! I broke my pen in rage; I might fall away from the sanity. Should I look for help? Should I reveal those unknown voices to someone else?

Every time I try, I fail. As if my body is under their curse, my tongue refuses to move. “I hear invisible voices!” I can repeat however much I wish when I am alone. Whenever somebody comes, I can’t try implying it. Have I already lost the battle with them? Have I become utterly insane? I should try answering them now. I don’t think I have anything else left…

No! No matter how desperate I am, I will never reply to those voices. I am not Faust. I am no fantastical hero, who would bet his soul to Mephistopheles. That they cannot take from me. The voice of the tree grows weaker, and I want to sleep again…

* * *

The dreams are coming more and more often, each one different from the previous. I see Germany. I see Greece. I see Hell pits and Heaven pillars. Somehow I always know where I am, as if those are memories. Ah, what am I writing? I am not Faust - that ancient mage who has never lived. I cannot be him; I am Lucien Dire. I am a student. I earn excellent marks and have never expressed any interest in the occult. It is a lie, I guess - the more those dreams come, the more I start researching every kind of angels and demons. I need answers to questions I cannot ask.

Last night I have dreamed only of a voice. I knew to whom it belonged as soon as it struck my ears. Gretchen. The name ruffled memories brought tears and left me on my knees. In front of her — the voice that promised to support me always — I have become nothing. Some primal sin weighted in my mind. I did not deserve to stand in her presence and have her support. The more she wept, the more she promised, the more I wanted to run away. And no matter how much she apologized, I had no right to say a single word to her.

What has happened? Gretchen - I researched that name. Faust’s love. How can I dream of a woman I have never known? Could I be Faust - reborn in another life without memories? No! You are Lucien Dire! Do not dare forget that! How many times I have woken up in cold sweat? How many times have I screamed at night from the pain of the hellfire? If I back down now - if I admit the madness around me is true, it would be all for naught.

At least Gretchen gave me rest from the nightmares. I’d never miss how much I feared going to sleep. In the nightmares, fires scorch the ground under me. A tall being slithers from the flames. A bat — no, a demon — walks out of the fire. He caresses my hand. Heat hisses like a snake on my skin. He laughs as if a savage animal roars and I fall on my legs. His nails dig in the skin of my hand and he never lets me go. His red eyes don’t leave mine. “You belong to me.” He smirks. “I’m never losing you.”

I’d rather suffer my unsaid sin with Gretchen every night. Never again I want to burn as if boiled alive. Never again I want to wake up with those strange scars that disappear by the time I try showing them to someone. And if the price for pleasant sleep is endless repenting for every thought, I can pay it. Gretchen - I hope I will encounter you tonight. Why then does my pillow once again looks like made of barbed wire?

* * *

They have changed their tactics. They no longer call me Faust. Now they ask what is my name as if they want to identify me better. And they introduce themselves: the sensitive voice is Gabriel, the caring - Michael, the powerful - Uriel. There is one more, they say - the guardian of Earth Raphael - but he does not show to people.

I have failed; last night, before I fell asleep, they came. They spoke, the three of them at once. Loud and clear, again and again, burning like a fiery storm. I could not hold myself back. At their questions I screamed, “My name is Lucien Dire!”

I have spoken to them. Have I crossed the line? Back then I felt I have. I wasted hours that night, replying to every ask they had.

How could I believe they were real? “Perform a miracle everyone will witness - not only me.”

Have I recalled anything of my past life? “Only dreams,” I answered. Gabriel confirmed it - she recounted so many details after I have been born. She has sealed my memories so that a child’s mind would not break under their weight.

Has Gretchen shown to me? She had only one chance, and they feared she had failed it. “She did, indeed.”

I did not sleep for a second. Until the sunrise, I was asking them and remembering their answers. Back then, with my patience stretched so thin that it snapped, I have seen no other option. Now I fear there is no coming back. It is even somehow fun; before I hoped the voices were unreal. Now I can barely wait until today at 15:00; they would show me their proof then.

How will they prove their angel nature? Will everyone see it - or just me? What will I do if everybody sees their sign - and even worse, what will I do if only I see it? There is no coming back, indeed. I must wait and hope someone else is also captured by the insanity.

Why have I agreed to their challenge? I even signed a contract - black and blue, sturdy like stone and thin like paper. My name appeared on that - no, Faust, not my name! - as soon as I said, “I agree.” Have I sold my soul to an angel? Am I fated to repeat Faust’s mistakes in my life, too? I have sworn - I will listen to them if other people see their miracle. They have promised to leave me alone if no one does.

I hope they will honor their promise. It is impossible anyone else will see them, isn’t that so? Ah, now I am making contracts with hallucinations! When did my life go to the dogs? Even if I’m proved right - even if only I see the miracle, I will feel as if I have lost. Is there any way to succeed?

* * *

It can’t be real. I need to wake up from the chain of impossible dreams that chase me and curse me so much. Can I pray to God in such a case - when my greatest enemy are angels? The miracle they had promised happened. The whole school saw it - all at once, at exactly 15:00. Every student, every teacher, everyone from the faculty watched as the water in the nearby river rose in front of our windows in a huge pillar. Is it a reality, then? The contract I have signed — the curse I must bear — still hangs in the air. What will I do now?

The tree again whips the window. She — Gabriel — wants to speak with me. My legs shake and kick, forcing me to move and tear the window open. I will fight. Can I reject the deal I have made? Can I break the oath in front of the three angels? I have to try, right? If they are not lying to me if I am Faust reborn, does it mean I am not myself? Will I still be Lucien? Will Faust’s memories take over mine? Yet if I do not answer and keep the memories at bay, they might still overpower me. I need answers; I need to know what will happen!

In the end, I opened the windows. With the wind came the woman’s voice - soft and caring, like whispers of spring.

“Good day, Lucien. Was the miracle to your liking?”

“It doesn’t matter. You are the one, who sealed my memories. What will happen now that I recover them? Will I forget my whole life before that?”

For a second she does not speak. My legs can move on their own once again - and I want to run from the room. I stay. I need those answers.

“It should not happen. You should have grown up, already knowing everything. But a baby’s mind could not hold all of those conflicting concepts. Once the seal breaks completely, you will learn everything you have known.”

“Why did you not seal my memories from the start? Why did you have to wait until after I was born?”

“Souls have been reborn time after time. You were the first that had to keep memories from the past life, however. Most people received them back only after their souls cross over.”

“I am the first one? Why?”

“That I do not know. At the time your soul was to be reborn, you, God’s favored, asked for that wish. You said you had a mission to fulfill. Only you can answer that question.”

I still don’t know how much I can trust the archangels. But if Gabriel is correct, I have chosen this on my own will. What mission have I given myself? What was so important that I have traveled back to life for it? I must remember. I must know. Only I can find the reason to torment myself like that.

* * *

Memories come. It is a slow, painful, uneven process. On some days, events flash through my mind - so fast that I can’t focus. I can only count the time until I can return home to order them and try to make sense. It is more difficult to remember days as they pass; sometimes I feel as if I have been awake for weeks with no end in sight. But the dashing memories are preferable to the slow ones.

They crawl through my thoughts - that persistent feeling I have forgotten a fact that I need to know, but I haven’t learned yet. Slowly they spread everywhere and my mind blanks on everything else. There is only that memory, more powerful and more persistent than anything else. Sometimes it is a single word on an ancient piece of paper, once it was the touch of Gretchen. I try to order them, but it spirals out of control. How can I monitor so many years of memories?

At least the memories of death came all at once, neatly ordered. The angels — whoever is with me on that day — help me with whatever questions I have. Many arcane arts and long-forgotten words have entered my thoughts. Sometimes I wish I could test them, but the angels repeat it is not an opportune time yet. They ask me to wait until I remember everything - to ensure I haven’t missed vital information for the spell.

I have stopped having strange dreams. No, it’s more accurate to say I have stopped dreaming completely. Everything I see is memories - concrete images that remove the doubtful spots. If I try to touch the hellfire, heaven’s light or the cold waters of Styx, I fear I will be taken again to the lands of death.

My mission remains a mystery. I should have remembered it - like all other memories of the afterlife. Could they have lied to me? Is there some other reason the angels have sent me to earth once again? No, on the contract both parties swore to the truth. They cannot break such contracts - binds that even the most powerful ones shall not overturn. If they have not lied to me, could someone else have lied to them? I need the answer. Without it, I have no goal.

I have no goal? Why? The more memories I get back, the more Lucien is disappearing. Yet I am not different - I still remember my parents, I still remember the first day of school… They mesh with the other memories. More and more I feel like I am watching someone else’s life rather than living it. Neither truly Faust nor purely Lucien - what am I? A mix of unstable memories that cannot decide on an identity? Will I spend my whole life looking for answers?

* * *

Another nightmare. This one didn’t resemble a memory; it had been far too away from anything I could have remembered. A beast tried to attack me. The more I try to remember, the more I want to sleep again. Will I see that monster in my dreams? Does he have answers for the mission? I remember his words:

Do you think I will let you forget? Oh, don’t be so surprised, Faust. I cannot attract too much attention, but appearing in your little notebook is more than possible for me.

Who are you?

Someone who knows things that no one else will tell you. Names are far too powerful to be given away, do not you think.

You already know my name.

Indeed, I do. Your mind has waned since I can enter it. If you can attack back, you will find my name.

What do you want?

I want to help you. It would not be a challenge to defeat God’s chosen when he has lost most of his power. I hope we will fight on even terms.

You seem quite insistent we have to be enemies.

We will, I know how the story plays out. My brother has not stopped talking about you even once during the whole 500 years. If you have left such a sour taste in his mouth, I cannot imagine what you will do to someone with standards.

Your brother has met Faust in the past? How are you both alive?

Oh, you don’t even remember him? Pity, he will be pissed after I tell him. Maybe enough to fly past all Azraels and attack the human world in the name of fighting you. But once he sees how weak you have become, he will blame me for tricking him. Be lucky you have more years to live.

Azraels… They belong to Heaven’s army. If he needs to pass by them to come here, does it mean he is not one of them?

It seems you have not lost all your abilities. I will not need to stretch my patience even thinner, waiting for you to remember everything. My brother is not so different from those angels. He used to be one of them along with me, after all. If every sinner can seek redemption, why cannot every saint choose the sin?

What are you, then? Demons?

Never again confuse me for those lowly creatures! They are useful only as stepping stones, cannon fodder in the stages of my plan. What utility can come of former humans? They stay as weak as they have always been. I have more in common with the angels than any Demon.

Why do you desire to challenge me so much, then? If you detest humans, you can kill me now.

Let me see… Once you answer this question, I will know that you have once again become Faust. Do that, and I shall accept you as an enemy.

I refuse to fight you.

Even after a few hours, the monster did not respond. Who is he? Why he wants me to fight him so much? I do not know. Bur if he insists he is no Demon, it leaves only one variant. His brother is Mephistopheles, the Devil. The dark force to whom I had bet my soul.

* * *

How much more I have to take? The more memories come, the more seem to follow. Who am I? Lucien, or Faust? Can I even answer? I know only that I’m stuck to wander between sudden bouts of knowledge that fit gaps so deep that I lose myself. My head seems like it would explode at any moment. So many details have paved the way for my thoughts, yet I still cannot see the most important piece. My goal. My order. My reason to live again.

Only the devil that has come says he knows it. Does he really? Is he trying to trick me in order to take my soul, as his brother had intended? Never trust such a fiend, told me the angels. Yet if they do not know anything, should I go and ask the devil? But even if I had chosen to break their order, how would I connect to that monster? He came through the notebook, but for a few days he has not appeared. No! Even if I knew how to contact him, I would not risk that bet again. I cannot reuse the Soul Cartel - it works with my soul against Mephistopheles’. Unless I bind him with a contract, I do not believe I can trust him.

Yet I had listened to the angel’s words and accepted them as truth. Would I have made the same choice had the devil came first? Would I still accept all words he repeated as a reality if he had performed a miracle - his strange writing in my own book? Does it matter then, to whom I listen? Both of them will paint their side as the moral and the other as evil. Yet I chose the angels. Is it because I have suffered due to Mephistopheles in a past life. Because I knew his immense power and immense cruelty? Ah, if only his power could be used for good!

Should I not have agreed with him, then? Ugh, what am I saying? To join with him because of the off chance he might agree to change his destructive ways? Are all of those memories driving me mad? Faust would never repeat his mistake. Yet I am not Faust. Would Lucien — the perfect person who does everything as excepted of him — do it? But I am not only Lucien. Not now.

What would I do - how can I answer without knowing who am I? I hope my memories come back soon enough. I hope I remember my mission - the final stroke in an unfinished painting. If I know everything will I be able to make the correct decision? That is my biggest wish - and if I must ask the devils to get all the knowledge, I will do it. I only pray I would not need it. But with the way my life has been falling until now, I should not hold such high hopes.

* * *

You should accept my offer. Your struggles, although admirable, prove useless. How much could one tiny of help hurt you? You will not give any power to me except as much as you are comfortable. Because, after all, without me you will walk in the same circles and wonder what to do, without end, right? Have you found a single clue to your mission? I have already understood it completely. Any moment my eldest brother could learn, too. You have realized his name, have you not? I hope you do not disappoint me, Faust.

The being has written a few more times in my diary, no matter how much I change the notebook. Always, it crawled in without invitation and disappeared without expectation. Micheal had told me his name - Mastema, one of the Archdevils. They try to hold him back, but he always sneaks past them. I do not answer. He is far craftier than Mephistopheles, they say. His eldest brother had caused me enough headaches long ago and I do not wish to repeat the experience. Not with a complete unknown to me. On the other hand, Mephistopheles is an enemy I must face again. A goal I must overcome.

Archdevils have endless power. Four Archangels and four Archdevils have kept the war between Heaven and Hell everlasting. But if the balance changes, if even one of those powerful agents switches side, it will end. It will be a total win or complete massacre. If the angels could fall — like the infamous Lucifer — then Devils can rise above their evilness. No one but I knows Mephistopheles well enough. Betting my soul again is the price I need to pay for the end of the hellish war. Mephistopheles will lose; I will ensure that.

No one else knows about my intentions yet. If I try to tell Michael, he will do his best to stop me. In the worst case, he could seal my memories again. Even if I’d say that is past him, he will do anything in the name of my safety. Too much, sometimes. Yet I matter not; even if Mephistopheles takes my soul, someone else can take my position. Someone needs to be the first, to start the redemption. It might take centuries, even millennia.

However many lives — and souls — we lose, it matters not. Hell’s greatest manipulator is not limited by time. Thus,…

**Ah, you were speaking of me. If you are going to throw your life away, you can give it to me.**

**Not answering, huh? But it seems you have remembered your goal. Very well, then. To show you how much I hate uneven matches, I’m going to give you a gift. My own brother - would that be charitable enough for you? Oh, how much he has been waiting to face you again, Faust… Once he learns you are in the human world, he will fly there as soon as possible. I’d advise you to find him quickly. He enjoys collateral damage too much for your and my liking.**

**You could also always ask me where he is going to appear…**


End file.
